


roll up a snowball (and toss it into hell)

by lexa_lives_in_us



Series: Spy AU [2]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Based on a Tumblr Post, Beauyasha is a side ship but they get alone scenes in the next chapters, F/F, Guns, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Memory Loss, Mighty Nein as Family, No Plot/Plotless, Other, Past Abuse, Tumblr Prompt, Undercover, Undercover AU, cobalt ruby, it's basically a build-as-we-go story based of Tumblr Asks I receive, spy AU, they're all special agents
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:21:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28229070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lexa_lives_in_us/pseuds/lexa_lives_in_us
Summary: Dairon is CIA, Marion Lavorre is just the next assignment. Things go south pretty quickly, and they find themselves tossed in the chaos that is the Mighty Nein's life.orUndercover AU born from a tumblr ask and now a full blown fic. Will update as I receive asks on Tumblr.
Relationships: Beauregard Lionett/Yasha, Dairon & Beauregard Lionett, Dairon/Marion Lavorre | Ruby of the Sea
Series: Spy AU [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2106840
Comments: 26
Kudos: 46
Collections: Undercover AU - A Critical Role Experiment in Spies and Secrecy





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> I will put nsfw chapters in a separate collection, just FYI, so that everyone can enjoy this.  
> Come scream about Cobalt Ruby with me on lexa-lives-in-us on Tumblr, and join our Discord Server!

Chapter One

Dairon can’t  _ fucking  _ believe it.

They’re special ops, for the love of God. They’ve trained with the best of the best, they’ve done missions no one else could’ve done. They’ve trained some of the best CIA, FBI and SEAL agents the world has ever seen. (Not that they’ll ever tell Beauregard that). They’re not babysitters.

Dairon doesn’t mind undercover, really. They’re sweet assignments, all in all, where they can pretend to be someone they’re not without actual consequences. It’s a job with no beginnings, no middles and no ends: once they’re done with a character, they toss it and build another one for a different mission. They can live and die with that persona and to hell with it.

But there are some assignments they really can’t fucking stand. They thought it was over, they really weren’t going to go on any more of those dumb as fuck missions, that they were rookie jobs. Stalking some celebrity because of potential high risk information and possible corruption?  _ Fuck  _ that  _ shit _ .

But no, the CIA had requested for them specifically, and Dairon has yet to understand why. They have the horrible suspicion Agent Lionett is behind all this, even from outside the agency, because Dairon knows she has contact within the assignment.

But a job is a job, and Dairon stares up at the five star hotel “The Lavish Chateau” with a critical eye. They’ve studied their piece, they know their backstory, they know the language. All they have to do is lounge at the hotel for a couple of weeks, collect intel and disappear. They are quite literally supposed to pretend to be a tourist in Paris. How  _ hard  _ can it be?

Dairon clutches their suitcase, smoothing out their button down with their free hand. They can’t remember the last time they’ve worn jeans, but here we go.

Deep breath, and Dairon walks in.

The place lives it up to the name. Dairon has seen two inches of the foyer of this hotel and it’s stupidly lavish, sumptuously rich and ridiculously elegant.

They are greeted within five seconds of walking in, and as they get to their room they find themselves thinking that at least, at least… It can be a nice spot for a vacation.

***

Dairon starts roaming the hotel immediately. No time to lose, and it’s not like they have anything else to do anyway. They slip through the emergency exit door, finding stairs.

Up or down?

Dairon shrugs to themselves and starts heading up.

They count seventeen floors of nothing before a small laugh makes them jump out of their own skin.

Dairon whips around, almost going for the gun in their hidden holster, and looks behind them. No one. Only darkness. Only…

From the obscured corner of another emergency exit door, a puff of smoke comes rolling out. A cigarette falls to the floor, and a heeled foot presses it down onto the cement.

Dairon stares, as a tall, absolutely  _ stunning  _ woman walks out of the shadow.

“I apologize.” the woman says, and if Dairon didn’t know they were gay before, they certainly know now, because that  _ voice _ … “It is not a habit I indulge often. But some days are more trying than others.”

Dairon blinks. They are a good height themselves, but this woman is tall.

Long, pale legs, loosely draped by the gown of a red dress that hugs curvy hips and soft breasts, with a cleavage that leaves very little to the imagination. But Dairon is a gentleperson, and they stare up at the woman’s face, which is probably worse, because  _ fuck _ , she is beautiful. Red hair encircling magnificent features and soft lips. And her  _ eyes _ … They are brown, but with a tint of reddish-purple, something Dairon has never seen.

But she has a gentleness to her, a sort of innocence, something that takes Dairon completely by surprise.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to smoke either way in this place.” Dairon responds, automatically. “The Hotel doesn’t allow smokers.”

The woman looks surprised for a moment, then she recoils and offers her hand.

“I don’t think I caught your name, handsome.” she asks with a fascinated whisper.

Dairon feels a shiver down their spine. Oh, this woman is  _ trouble _ . They know the woman probably expects them to shake her hand, but Dairon takes a page out of Beauregard’s book and goes for it. Fucking assignment, they might as well have some fun.

They grab the woman’s hand in theirs, then press a kiss on the soft, silky skin of her knuckles.

“Skylar.” they say, and they hate this stupid name, but don’t hate this mission so much anymore.

The woman’s eyes spark in amusement, and she giggles as Dairon places a kiss on her hand. She doesn’t let go. Instead, she takes a step forward, almost pressing her body to Dairon, who blinks rapidly.

The woman uses her free hand to place a finger on Dairon’s jaw. Their eyes meet, cobalt blue finding dark ruby.

“Well,  _ Skylar _ .” the woman says, rolling the name on her tongue, almost like she’s trying to taste it.. “Maybe you’ll find out my actual name once I find out yours.  _ À bientôt _ .”

Then the woman drops her hands, and disappears through the same dark corner she’d emerged from before, followed by a soft smell of roses. Fucking poetic.

Dairon is left staring, the only noise in the stairwell being the violent drumming of their heart.

***

Dairon is distressed.

They’ve worked in the secret services for almost two decades, and very rarely someone had spotted their cover so quickly.

If they have to be honest with themselves, it’s not like this woman had clocked in on her whole ordeal, but just the fact that she’s suspecting Skylar is not Dairon’s real name is a huge red flag. It’s something that should be sending Dairon to the airport immediately, because this could very well be jeopardizing the whole assignment.

Dairon waits in their room, gun on their thighs, for almost four hours, for a sign that their cover is compromised. A phone call, a letter, an email, hell, even a squad of enemy forces bursting through the window… But nothing happens.

Dairon is on edge. Rationally, they know they should report this immediately.

But nothing happens until dinner time, and they decide that maybe -just maybe- they can do some more digging, and hopefully find out a bit more about this mysterious woman.

They decide to order room service, and when they call reception, the gentlemen on the other side of the line asks them if Dairon wishes to confirm the seat for the night’s show.

“What show are we talking about?” they ask.

“The Ruby of the Sea, Mix.” he explains, sounding a bit confused. “Guests fly in from all over Europe to hear her sing. We generally reserve spots for our guests, and I see on your file that you’ve reserved one with your booking.”

Dairon closes their eyes. They completely forgot about the stupid concert. It is indeed on their schedule, but mostly as a cover. The Ruby of the Sea is one of the possible sources of information they have to check on. One of those celebrities they’re supposed to protect.

“Of course.” They end up saying. “Forgive me, jet lag must’ve really messed up with my schedule. I’d like to confirm, thank you.”

The gentleman on the other side seems to smile.

“Of course. Front seat for you is reserved. Great choice, Mix. Have a pleasant evening.”

Dairon sighs, falling back on the ridiculously comfortable bed. Guess they have to find a proper outfit, now.

***

Dinner is delicious, but Dairon is already in business mode. They get dressed, an elegant suit with high waisted dress pants, unbuttoned white blouse and dark jacket, then leave the room.

The elevators are already filled with well-dressed guests, chatting about the show, and Dairon rolls their eyes and takes the stairs.

They try not to think of who they are hoping to meet, and they are  _ definitely  _ not disappointed when they get to the main floor without crossing a soul.

They take their seat in front of the stage, order an Old Fashioned and wait. Their phone buzzes twice in their pocket, and Dairon raises an eyebrow at the two texts.

**[Unknown Number]: I heard you’re in Paris, too, Skylar. Care to join us for dinner one of these nights?**

**[Unknown Number]: Nice suit.**

Dairon closes their eyes momentarily, straightening up and looking around.

It doesn’t take long to find them. Beauregard could maybe disappear in the crowd, but her wife is massive. Yasha could be found immediately and without even looking pretty much anywhere.

The two of them are sitting comfortably a couple rows behind them, hand in hand, elegantly dressed and with comfortable smiles on their faces. They look so disgustingly in love, Dairon wants to cry and puke at once.

Dairon scowls at Beau’s wink.

**[You]: I’m on a mission, you asshat.**

**[Unknown Number]: So are we. But we’re also enjoying the show.**

Dairon doesn’t have the time to respond, because the lights dim, and the curtains start to lift. They slip their phone in their pocket and focus on the stage, curious despite themselves to see who the hell this Ruby of the Sea is and why everyone would pay what they pay to see her.

Of course, it doesn’t take long for them to have either question answered.

Because the woman  _ -their  _ woman, the woman of the stairs- is even more magnificent than when Dairon’s seen her, a few hours ago.

The Ruby of the Sea is wearing a silky blue dress, and her red hair is french braided to keep strands off her face, and when she sings, her voice makes the air thick with a poisonous sound, a sound of luxurious promises and luscious passion.

Her voice is pure magic, pure fucking poetry as the woman sings, dragging gasps and half breaths from the crowd in front of her.

Dairon edges on their seat, fingers clutched on their drink, and blinks and swallows and oh, they are so  _ fucked _ . 

The Ruby of the Sea -Dairon would literally operate her license to kill to obtain her actual name- waltzes on the stage and slowly descends the stairs on the left side of the room. She keeps singing, one hand clutching her long gown and the other waving at the guests she passes, table by table.

And then.

And then she passes in front of Dairon, looks ahead, then back at them.

Her eyes soften, and her lips curl up in a smile.

It’s the softest, most charming smile Dairon has ever seen on any human ever, and they don’t get how this woman can be so alluring and so gentle spirited all at once.

But the Ruby of the Sea lifts a hand towards Dairon and Dairon does what they’ve done a few hours before. They grab her hand in theirs and press a soft, featherlike kiss on the woman’s knuckles.

Their eyes meet again, then the Ruby of the Sea squeezes her fingers and lets go, turns her back to the crowd and heads back up the stage, to conclude her song with a beautiful, inhuman note.

Dairon’s heart is in their throat. They are so  _ royally  _ fucked.

***

The Ruby of the Sea comes back throughout the show to sing two more times, one at the halfway point and one at the end, to close it. Dairon remains glued to their seat, nursing another drink with their mind lost in thoughts. That woman is dangerous, that much they know.

The real problem is, they don’t know how much.

Throughout the various performances, Dairon counts thirteen vibrations to their cellphone and four to their wristwatch before they decide to switch both of them off. They have no idea how Beauregard has obtained all their contact, but they’re going to keep avoiding their protege like the fucking  _ plague _ .

Unfortunately, the exact moment the lights turn back on, Beauregard appears out of thin air, and Dairon regrets teaching her so well. Yasha trails behind them with ease and tranquillity, and Dairon resigns themselves to a conversation.

“ _ Bro _ , what the everloving  _ fuck  _ was  _ that _ ?!”

Dairon shoots a glare at Beauregard. They’ve noticed a few people already glancing in the general direction of where they are and they wish Beauregard didn’t gather that much attention.

“Agent Lionett, I am still your superior, for all intent and purposes, and I would gladly appreciate it if you stopped calling me ‘bro’.” they grit through their teeth.

Beauregard reaches blindly behind her, and Yasha promptly grabs her hand.

Disgusting.

“Alright, what the fuck was that,  _ dude _ ?!”

Dairon wishes glares could kill, but they instead roll their eyes. They notice a couple more people staring at Beau and Yasha.

“Can you please lower your voice? You two stick out like sore thumbs on any occasion, but this is too much attention for my liking.”

Beauregard cackles. She actually cackles.

“Wow. Alright, Mix, I thought you were better at this, but you must be getting old.”

Dairon’s fingers itch to slam a fist onto Beauregard’s face, but instead they decide to interact with the less manic half of the Lionett-Nydoorin couple.

“What does she mean, exactly?”

Yasha shrugs, wrapping one arm around Beau’s waist. Beauregard immediately leans in.

“The Ruby of the Sea generally doesn’t interact with the public that closely.” Yasha explains, softly. “She greets the audience, but no one is allowed to touch her. But everyone could see the first row, so… They’re not looking at us. They’re looking at you.”

Dairon glances around, and it only takes them a few seconds to realize Yasha is right. People are whispering around them, at their tables, but this is not the kind of attention Dairon wants. They’re here undercover, for fuck’s sake.

They make a move to get up, but Beau’s hand on their elbow forces them back on the chair. The smile is gone from her face.

“Don’t. People are already suspicious enough. Stay just a little longer, we’ll be able to provide a distraction. Believe me, Dairon. There’s more at play than you think.”

Dairon wants to punch Beauregard more times than they don’t, but they’re not stupid: Beauregard is good, she’s fucking fantastic at what she does, and trusting her is a decision Dairon has made many times in the past, and has never regretted. So they stay put, and Beauregard pats their arm.

***

They don’t have to wait long, anyway.

The crowd starts murmuring again, and when Dairon looks up from their drink, is to meet the magnetic eyes of the Ruby of the Sea.

It’s brief, because the woman throws herself at Beauregard first and Yasha after, hugging them and kissing them both on the cheeks.

“Oh, my darlings.” she says, with a motherly tone. “How wonderful it is to see you here.”

“Hey, girl.” Beau says with a smile, and Yasha laughs when the Ruby of the Sea has to stand on her toes to kiss her.

Dairon follows the interaction with curious eyes, not understanding how Beauregard and Yasha can be so familiar with this woman.

But she turns to look at them, and Dairon stands, slowly. Once more, the woman in front of her reaches for them with a hand, and once more, Dairon obliges. Only, after she kisses the back of her hand, the Ruby of the Sea doesn’t let go, and takes a step forward.

Their bodies flush together, warm and soft against muscular and lean. The woman looks around, ducking her head and murmuring: “It is a pleasure to see you again, Dairon.”

Dairon’s head turns immediately to look at the woman, who keeps smiling at her with mischief and warmth.

“Beau and my daughter have told me so much about you.” the woman continues, ignoring the clear panic in Dairon’s face. “But they had failed to tell me how charming you are.”

Beau scoffs.

“Charming?  _ Dairon _ ?!”

Yasha snorts, turning her head to hide a bigger laugh, and Dairon feels a ridiculous blush growing on their features. Their hand is still clutching the other woman’s, and Dairon wants to run, but they can’t bring themselves to let go.

Something, though, something catches their attention.

Beau and my daughter, the woman has said.

Beauregard doesn’t have many friends, and only a couple of them are female. But whereas Veth Brenatto doesn’t have any parent on record, Jester Lavorre, on the other hand…

“Marion Lavorre.” Dairon exhales, and Marion turns to look at her.

Dairon can see the intake of breath, the soft gasp at the sound of her name, and the way Marion blinks when her cheeks flush red.

“Marion.” Dairon repeats, and they don’t miss the way Marion’s tongue quickly darts to wet her lips.

Marion nods, and blinks again, finally releasing Dairon’s hand.

“Beauregard, my darling.” she says to the younger woman. “Would you be a darling and walk me around to greet the regulars?”

Beauregard nods with a gentle, understanding smile, and Dairon wonders what part of the story they’re missing.

Marion looks at them, blue meeting ruby, and lingers for a moment longer.

“I hope to see you later.” she murmurs before walking away.

Dairon stares. They can not to.

They stare as Marion anchors herself to Beau’s arm and walks away, plastering a polite smile on her face that has nothing to do with any of the smiles Dairon’s been gifted with. They’re all very honest, but there’s something missing now.

“Take it from someone who’s run from the chance of happiness for years.”

Dairon turns to look at Yasha, whose gaze is glued to her wife’s figure.

Dairon has been there through it all. They’ve been at their wedding, too. They don’t think there’s anyone in the whole damn galaxy who could have what those two have.

Beauregard and Yasha quite literally are the definition of soulmates, in Dairon's internal dictionary.

But whereas Beau is all loud noises and abrasiveness, Yasha is quieter, softer, in a way, when she talks. And she doesn’t talk much, so Dairon knows when to listen.

“Don’t run.” Yasha turns to look at her, and her gaze holds Dairon down. “You are the closest Beau has to a parental figure, so I know how similar you two are. Don’t run, Dairon.”

Dairon is left staring at the bare back of the ridiculously muscular woman, as she saunters away towards the bar. They hear her words and they drink them in.

Then they turn around, and leave the room.

***

Dairon shoves their clothes in the suitcase. This is not what they’d signed up for, in any fucking way. No.

They are an agent, a spy, they’re special ops. The assignment in and on itself isn’t something they’re entirely keen on, because it’s not their style.

But being busted by a possible contact less than twelve hours into the mission?

No. They should have called it in hours ago, at the first red flag.

It’s stupid. They’ve been stupid, irresponsible and reckless. And that isn’t them. Agent Lionett, maybe, but not them.

And yet, they can’t bring themselves to call it in. They’re packing, they’re shoving everything they have, which is admittedly very little, into the suitcase, they’ve put the earpiece in, decided on disappearing through the night, but they still haven’t made the call.

Dairon finds a flyer on the bedside table as they’re grabbing the phone charger, and they stare at the words “Come see the Ruby of the Sea” for a second too long before crumpling the paper in their fist and throwing it then in the garbage.

Their stomach drops at the gesture, but they move past it. They can’t dwell on that. Not now. They’ll have time to rethink all their life choices once they’re on the plane back to the States.

They look around, checking for missing items, when the soft sound of a knock at their door makes them turn.

The gun appears in their hands. Dairon briefly wishes they’d changed into something more comfortable than the suit, but eventually moves towards the door. They peek through the peephole, and close their eyes.

Dairon considers not opening, considers remaining quiet until the way is clear, but Marion sighs on the other side.

“I know you’re in there. Open the door, please.”

And Dairon, God herself be damned, can’t deny this woman anything. It’s dangerous and reckless and so not like them.

They unlock the door, before taking a step back and clutching the gun with their free hand. Finally, they hold the door open.

Marion walks in, and Dairon quickly closes the door behind her.

The woman takes a brief look at the room before turning to greet them.

“You’re leaving.” Marion says, and Dairon  _ hates  _ the pained look on her face, they  _ hate  _ how affected she seems to be at the realization. They’ve met today, for fuck’s sake, this is not-

“My darling,” Marion whispers, and Dairon’s heart jumps in their throat. “Please don’t leave on my account. I will not bother you, I will not talk to you, I will not even look at you if my presence has somehow put in danger what you work for.”

Dairon swallows the distress at the idea of Marion not looking at them anymore, and places the gun in their back holster.

“What do you even know of what I work for?”

Marion smiles, gently, almost in the same, motherly way Dairon’s seen her doing with Beauregard. They hate it. But they also see a wisdom through that look that they did not expect.

“I know plenty more than anyone here imagines.” Marion says. “I’m sure you have met my daughter.”

_ Met  _ is a big word, if Dairon has to be honest. Jester Lavorre is very well known as one of Agent Lionett’s most trusted allies and team players, but she’s also quite… Elusive. Jester is what movies would call ‘The Tech Guy’.

Jester is who Beau and her team rely on to find communication channels, override hidden cameras, tamper with traffic lights… Which is also probably how Beauregard has obtained Dairon’s new numbers in such a short period of time.

Dairon knows that, no matter where they are, Jester could find a way to send a message, if the occasion was to arise.

But Jester is also a very wanted person in a couple different EU countries, and her presence is often scarce when Dairon flies on this side of the ocean.

In response to Marion’s question, Dairon nods. It makes sense. Jester is probably a huge source of information, classified information, for her own mother.

“Then you must know that I am not completely clueless as to what you or your organization do.”

Dairon nods once more, but doesn’t move. They can’t. Because Marion is giving them reason to trust her, and Dairon can’t trust her.

“It’s dangerous.” they say, out loud, almost regretting for the words to come out.

Marion takes a step forward, and Dairon wants nothing more than to do the same, but they hold themselves back. It is too dangerous.

“Are you talking about your mission?” Marion murmurs, ruby red eyes finding theirs. “Or are you talking about your heart?”

Dairon’s entire body shivers, their entire being rejecting the idea, opposing those words with as much force as they can muster.

But they can’t deny the effect those few words have on them.

“Marion.” they plead, almost, standing frozen in the middle of the room, spine ramrod straight, fists clenched at their sides.

“Dairon.” Marion echoes, gently, softly, with so much pain and so much hope that Dairon wants to crumble. Never in their lives a woman had enchanted them like she is doing now.

“We have met today.” Dairon says through gritted teeth.

Marion’s hand reaches forward, and for the first time, Dairon doesn’t take it. The woman tilts her head, then steps just a bit closer, so that her palm can rest on Dairon’s half bare chest, right on the sternum, right where she can feel their heart beating.

“What does it matter, in the grand scheme of things?”

Everything. Absolutely everything. This is what Dairon wants to say. They can’t, of course.

They look at Marion, and how this woman wants to be here, with them, right now, remains a mystery to them, but Dairon knows it in their heart that Marion would never lie to them.

They open their mouth to respond, and the earpiece crackles in their ear.

A somewhat even more familiar voice giggles in their ear, and Jester’s voice breaks the spell.

“Heeeeeeeey Dairon. I need you to take my mama and hide. Like.  _ Now _ .”

Dairon blinks, looks toward the window, right beside Marion’s shoulder, and catches the first glimpse of a disaster.

A laser.

“With me, now.” they snap, grabbing Marion’s hand and pulling her with them. To her credit, besides widening her eyes in surprise, Marion does what she’s told.

Hell breaks loose after that.

The window all but explodes under the shower of bullets, and Dairon manages to kick the table in front of them just in time for the machine gun to vomit a whole charge on it. They crouch, back against the quickly dissolving wood of the table, and extract their gun.

“Are you okay?” they yell above the noise.

Marion nods, then turns towards the door.

Dairon turns as well, just in time to see Beauregard kicking the bloody thing open, with what looks like a heavily modified AK-47 in hand.

“It’s bad!” she screams, “We’re running!”

Dairon does what they always do when Beauregard is involved, and trusts her. They grab Marion’s hand once more, gesturing for her to follow, and thanks to Beauregard’s cover they manage to duck their way out of the room.

Marion presses her back against the wall, taking a couple deep breaths, and Dairon grabs her by the shoulders.

“Are you okay?” they ask, again.

Marion nods, smiles weakly, just as Beauregard ducks out of the room to reload. Once she does that, her eyes meet Dairon’s, and Dairon extends a hand.

Beauregard grins, tossing the Kalashnikova at them.

They study it for a brief second, fix it against their shoulders and press their back against the outer wall.

A deep breath.

Dairon turns, stepping in the doorframe, gun pressed against their shoulder and cheek against the weapon.

It’s almost too easy.

Their eyes focus on the window, on the other side of the street, on the building where one of the snipers is sitting (they count three more)… And they pull the trigger.

One shot.

The bullet soars through the air almost in slow motion, as Dairon watches as it crosses the whole distance and matches the target.

Dairon ducks back out.

Beauregard laughs, and Marion looks at them in a way that Dairon doesn’t really understand, but they are quickly distracted by the gentle  _ ping  _ of the elevator.

They all turn, as the doors slowly open, and Yasha walks gingerly out, so casual in her night dress, strolling around happily with a-

“Where the  _ fuck  _ did you get a  _ bazooka _ ?!” Dairon shrieks, outraged by their protégé and her wife.

Beauregard shrugs, but the look on her face is of pure lust and love, and Dairon takes it as their cue to leave.

They turn to look at Marion, and this time, they’re the ones extending a hand.

“Come with me?” they say, and it should be an order, it should be a command, but it isn’t.

Marion smiles, cheekily almost, and stands tall. She grabs their hand.

“I know a way.” she winks, and god fucking dammit, Dairon wants to kiss her.

***

Marion is the one leading the way, and she leads them straight to the elevators.

As the doors open, Dairon quickly glances back and sees Yasha, kneeling in front of the open door of the room they’ve just left, bazooka on her shoulder and the calmest of expressions on her face.

Behind her, Beauregard stops to reload her AK-47, and that’s when Yasha pulls the trigger. Dairon sees Yasha’s body slightly recoiling at the shot, and the massive charge shoots through the open door and possibly out the window, until…

The explosion is  _ massive _ .

The floor vibrates under their feet and Dairon is certain it can be perceived in any corner of Paris.

They don’t have time to think about much, though, because Marion pulls them inside the elevator, and the metal doors close behind them, isolating them from the rest of the mayhem.

Marion scans one of her bracelets against the scanner that is supposed to read the magnetic keys for the hotel rooms, then presses the button for the basement.

The elevator starts moving at snail pace, and then there is silence.

Marion slowly turns to look at them, and Dairon has a moment to catch their breath and lose it right after.

The intensity of Marion’s gaze is something to behold.

“That was…”

“Unexpected?” Dairon suggests, almost angry at themselves for not having paid more attention.

But Marion’s eyes glimmer of something else.

“I was going to say  _ hot _ , but sure. Unexpected can work just as well.”

Dairon is not sure whether it’s the way Marion pronounces the word hot or the way she is looking at them, but suddenly they’re very glad that fucking elevator is so slow.

Because at this point, literally  _ fuck  _ this fucking  _ shit _ .

Dairon grabs Marion by her hip with the free hand, the other still clutched against her hand gun, and Marion moves towards them more than willingly.

“Yes?” Dairon demands, low, raspy voice.

Marion bites her lower lip, slowly clasping her fingers around Dairon’s jaw, and tilts her head, kissing them.

Marion’s tongue is hot against theirs, and Dairon’s knees buckle at how warm the body of the woman is on them.

Marion’s free hand lands once more on Dairon’s half bare chest, and Dairon’s arm envelops her soft figure to bring her flush against them.

The elevator comes to a stop, and as the doors open, Dairon opens their eyes to check for more people…

…Which they find.

Dairon pulls the trigger faster than the three other men raise their own weapon, and their bodies hit the floor just as Marion bites Dairon’s lip.

Dairon breaks away for a moment.

“Do you mind?!” they ask, almost sarcastically, but there’s a smile in those words.

“It seems like you handled it just fine, darling.” Marion responds, slipping her hand in Dairon’s free one.

Marion walks out the elevator, collecting her gown with the other hand and stepping over the first dead body with way too much elegance on those ridiculously high heels. Dairon can only hold her hand and help her out, completely in awe of this woman.

“Very well, my dear.” Marion says, looking around in the now deserted private garage. She finds what she’s looking for and marches towards it, and Dairon is left gaping at the Bugatti Veyron in front of them. 

Marion slips a hand under the bumper, fishing out a key ring with a single key on it.

“I hope you know how to drive, because I most certainly do not.” She says, throwing the key at Dairon, who snatches it out of the air with a shocked expression.

“Are you serious?”

Marion winks, flips her hair across one shoulder and opens the passenger seat of the Bugatti, lowering herself inside. Dairon’s eyes follow the curve of her thighs and blesses every single God in existence for that sight.

Then they run to the other side and get in the car.

***

The Bugatti skids through the asphalt of Boulevard Saint-Marcel, covering the screams of innocent civilians as Dairon struggles to keep it on the road.

Marion, next to her, alternates between pressing a hand against her heart and laughing in pure, unbridled freedom.

“When’s the last time you left the Chateau?” Dairon asks, jerking the wheel to the midpoint to straighten the car.

“Oh, decades. Before Jester was even born.” Marion breathes out, followed by an expletive that Dairon does not understand, too focused on trying not to crash into the car ahead of them.

“We need to get out of city traffic, this car is fast, but also too recogniza-”

Dairon doesn’t even finish their sentence, as the screeching of more wheels reaches their ears.

Marion turns to look outside her own window, and Dairon can see two darker cars now following them.

As they see a turn for Rue Froidevaux, they jerk the wheel once more and jump into it, nearly avoiding an elderly couple crossing the street.

Taking advantage of the temporary lack of cars on the street, Dairon slams their foot on the pedal, and the Bugatti shoots forward with a ridiculously powerful roar.

Dairon feels their body being pressed against the seat of the car, the gun digging in their back holster painfully, and a grin spreads across their features.

“Charming.” Marion laughs, one hand pressed against the roof of the car and the other one holding onto her own seat. “Try not to kill us, darling. I still very much would like to finish what we started in that elevator.”

Dairon slows just lightly, the traffic now too intense, and checks the rear view mirror to notice the two cars now having become three. Well, fuck.

Dairon slips a hand in their back holster, freeing themselves of the gun digging into their back, and holds it out to Marion.

“Keep this for me, please.” they mutter, scanning the street with expert eyes. They can hear sirens in the background, and they are not surprised to realize that the Paris Police has now gotten involved.

Dairon aims for the roundabout, knowing this will take all their focus to try and get out of as smoothly as possible while also attempting to lose at least one car, and mutters: “This is about to get bumpy, Marion.”

Marion hums, and Dairon doesn’t have time to stop her, because the roundabout is right there, but only witnesses the Ruby of the Sea lowering the passenger window.

Dairon has to jerk the car into a drift, as they hit the heavily trafficked roundabout, and Marion extends one arm outside the window… Taking aim with Dairon’s gun.

Marion shoots twice, in rapid succession, and what follows is a horrible screeching sound, and one of the three black cars front flips into the traffic, both of its front wheels completely blown.

The remaining two cars are too focused on avoiding the first to respond to the fire, and Marion raises her window again and leans back against the seat, just as Dairon brings the steering wheel back and skids onto the traffic of Boulevard Pasteur.

They turn to look at Marion, who is calmly straightening her hair up using the reflection in the mirror of the sun visor.

“You’re staring, darling.” Marion smiles, pressing a thumb under her lips to fix the lipstick Dairon must’ve smudged a few minutes back.

“You are most certainly a sight to behold, Marion Lavorre.” Dairon can only say, checking the rear view mirror again. The two cars are still behind them, although much further away.

For whatever reason, that makes Marion blush, as the woman releases a low chuckle.

“Well, thank you.”

The traffic lights become red in front of them, and Dairon has to slam her foot on the brake in order to avoid the cars in front of them, as they instinctively shoot an arm out to keep Marion’s body from jerking forward.

They maneuver the car around the others, gaining a series of honking and screams from the other drivers, and they turn briefly to see with horror that the cars are now tailing them again. And unfortunately, they are also lowering their own windows to take aim.

But then…

Dairon feels it before she sees it.

The wave of energy released by the rocket of Yasha’s bazooka as it impacts against one of the cars is strong enough to kick their car forward as well.

It’s pure chaos, and as they start onto Boulevard de Grenelle, Dairon begins to hear the horrible whirring sound of a helicopter. That is so not good.

Beau’s black motorcycle nears Dairon’s window, so they lower it.

On the bike, Beau is trying her best to keep the vehicle steady, as Yasha whirls around on the backseat, dress half ripped but still somehow together, thighs clenched around the hot engine of the bike. That can’t be pleasant either.

Both of them look absolutely wrecked.

Beau has a deep gash cutting through her cheek, and blood staining the front of her once white blouse. Yasha’s arms are covered in new cuts and bullet holes, but the both of them have a determinate expression on their faces.

“Dairon!” Beau screams above the absolute chaos. “You have to get her out! They want  _ her _ !”

Dairon has no fucking clue what is going on. They don’t know why these people are after Marion, but they are going to  _ die  _ before they let them get their hands on Marion Lavorre.

Dairon opens their mouth to ask how, since they are now speeding onto a fucking bridge, but as the famous sight of Pont de Bir-Hakeim comes into view, the helicopter flies past their heads, twirling in a very dangerous way as it makes a full one-eighty maneuver.

A moment later, a rope ladder unravels from inside the flying vehicle.

Dairon turns to look at Marion, and Marion looks back at them, for the first time truly scared.

“Shit.” she says, and Dairon can only agree. Shit indeed.

They both watch as Beau speeds in front of them, and as Yasha grabs onto the ladder and holds onto it. She climbs up a few feet, then stops.

Beau brings herself underneath it with her bike, then fully and recklessly launches herself into the air, trying to grab onto the ladder as well… And missing.

As the rope slips through her fingers, and as Dairon releases a strangled noise of fear, Yasha’s hand slaps onto Beauregard’s, yanking her out and upward in a quick motion.

Beauregard starts climbing the rope, making her way around Yasha and then up, with way too much ease and familiarity for Dairon lickings. They’re gonna have a talk with her.

Dairon brings the car under the ladder, thanking God that it’s a convertible.

They can hear the police sirens getting closer and they can see the other car nearing them faster than they’d like.

Wind hits both of their faces, and the helicopter lowers just slightly to allow them to grab onto it.

“GO!” Dairon screams, and Marion manages to unlatch the seat belt and grab onto the rope. With the help of Yasha, still hanging onto the ladder with one hand -Dairon just briefly wonders where the fuck she left her bazooka- Marion makes her way up.

Dairon focuses back on the road, trying to keep the car steady enough to allow her the same maneuver as Beau, but fully knowing it’s going to be much harder.

And then, from the corner of her eye, they see the mouth of a rifle being positioned from outside the car window, right behind her, and they know what’s about to happen before it does.

The shot is clean and perfect, something that Dairon actually admires, and blows the Bugatti’s back tire off its wheel.

Dairon jerks the steering wheel, drifting with the car to avoid the civilian traffic, and the Bugatti finally flips.

The impact is annihilating, and Dairon feels the cracking of her right wrist as it snaps in the crash, but then the car keeps rolling and flying…

…Right past the guard rail and into the river below.

The last thing Dairon hears is the horrible, blood curdling pained scream of one Marion Lavorre, before the car plunges into the waters below.


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much everyone for the massively amazing feedback!  
> Here's some more for you and as usual, let me know what you think!

CHAPTER TWO

The impact with the water is stunning.

Dairon manages to press the seatbelt claps a mere second before the car crashes into the cold water of the Seine, and thei body is jerked and tumbled all over the fucking place.

Dairon blacks out.

For a second or for a minute, they’re not entirely sure.

But their clothes drench in water, and the weight of them, of their boots and the few weapons in their jacket starts dragging them down.

They can’t move, their body in half shock for the barrel roll, the crash and the impact with the water.

Dairon blinks, coughing their last intake of breath, and managing to faintly notice one more object crashing the surface a little further up from where they are.

Didn’t really think they were going to die like that, to be honest with themselves.

***

Air fills their lungs, at the same time as water spews out, and Dairon’s body jerks, instinctively trying to break free from the hold of someone keeping them above water.

“Dairon!”

It’s a voice they recognize, although barely.

They cough, and every single broken or bruised part of their body suddenly starts to throb.

The man hoists her above the surface, checking their pupils and patting on their back once more.

Dairon turns to look at them, a fine looking man with dark hair with streaks of silver and a neatly trimmed beard.

“We have to dive, right the fuck  _ now _ .” Fjord tells her, holding a mask towards their face.

Dairon nods, too weak to say anything else, as they let Fjord help them wear the mask.

The sirens of the Police reach the bridge, and it’s definitely time to go.

“Three, two,  _ one- _ ”

They dive.

Dairon can’t see  _ shit  _ in the murky waters of the Seine, but it doesn’t matter. Beau’s team knows their stuff, and Fjord is an experienced diver. Dairon let themselves be dragged down with him, breathing into the oxygen mask and weakly moving their legs in an attempt to swim.

They feel weak, and tired, and before they know it, their eyes fall close, and the cold water lulls them to a very unhealthy sleep.

***

They wake up with a start, shivering violently and sitting up straight in what looks like the back of a van.

There’s no windows, no other person there with them, and Dairon instinctively panics.

They try to stand, but not even with whatever little sleep they had they can hope to be strong enough to fight.

They squint their eyes in the darkness, struggling to stand, and clutching the blanket that they now feel on their shoulders.

An enemy would not mind the care of warming them up.

They manage to find the back of the van, and try to knock where the window communicating with the driver usually is.

There’s some ruffling, then the divider cracks the window open.

“Dairon.” Fjord says, hurriedly. “We’re almost at the safe house. I’m sorry, we had to take a detour. Try not to move too much, there’s a lot of equipment you really don’t want to stumble on.”

Dairon growls, irritated and cold and exhausted.

They are grateful, really, but fuck this shit.

“What kind of equipment?”

Fjord chuckles, nervously, and clears his voice.

“Uhm. You-You really don’t wanna know.”

Dairon growls again, turning to press their back against the wall of the van and sliding down, knees buckling underneath them.

They wrap the blanket more closely around them with the hand that does not hurt like a bitch, and close their eyes.

***

The van finally comes to a stop, and Fjord gets down and all the way to the back, opening the doors for them to leave.

Dairon elects to ignore the massive amount of unstable explosives, guns and rocket launchers (fuck that, she can’t ignore  _ that _ , Yasha needs to have a serious talk to-) as they let Fjord help them down the van.

They’re in the middle of a field, with a few cows milling about, minding their own business in the cold air of the night.

Dairon barely hides a yawn and a groan, jerking her arm away from Fjord’s hold. He raises his hands and walks ahead of them, leading them towards a very non-descriptive shack in the middle of the field.

It doesn’t look too big from the outside, but Dairon just wants to get out of those stupidly drenched clothes and into something warm. And maybe, just maybe, get someone to look at their arm. Then, a thought hits them.

“Is Marion safe?” they ask, trying to keep the panic away from their voice. “Beauregard?”

Fjord chuckles.

“Yeah. All safe, all of them, despite that fuckin’ stunt y’all pulled.”

Dairon takes a deep breath, following Fjord inside the shack.

The light is way too bright for eyes that have been in the darkness for the past… How long has it been?

As Dairon squints, trying their best to get their eyes used to the new environment, they hear a few noises.

A couple gasps, Beauregard’s tired but relieved laugh, Yasha’s gentle “I told you so, baby…” and a loud, fearful, thankful “ _ Dairon _ !”

Dairon doesn’t even pretend to fight it, and they only catch one glimpse of Marion, beautiful, stunning Marion, as she runs towards them and crashes her body onto theirs in a bone breaking hug.

Dairon stumbles backwards, too weak to hold it together, but Marion holds them to her.

The woman presses her lips against Dairon’s temple and they can’t… They just can’t pretend anymore.

“I am so,  _ so  _ happy to see you.” they whisper.

Then their knees give in, and Dairon passes out again.

***

As Jester lifts Dairon’s limp body and carries them to the basement to get checked over, with Marion hot on her daughter’s heels, Beau looks around.

Yasha is on the other side of the room, behind closed curtains, where Caduceus is patching her up after her latest stunt, and Beau leans with her head on her palms, taking deep breaths, and reminiscing of a moment not too different from this, of a few years ago, with different wounds and different lovers, but with a same, similar intensity.

_ Dairon isn’t happy. _

_ Beau knows they aren’t. She doubts they wouldn’t have been either way, as Dairon seems to have ‘unhappiness’ as a default state when it comes to Beauregard. Or life in general. _

_ But Beau is sure of her choices, and it’s too late to back out now anyway. _

_ Leaving the CIA is the right choice. _

_ She can’t stand among people who won’t fight for what’s right, but only for what’s convenient. _

_ Fjord blames it on Yasha, on having met Yasha and the organization she runs with, unwillingly or not. (Beau is convinced of the former, but no one seems to listen.) _

_ It’s not just Yasha, though. It’s everything around her. _

_ Dairon has taught her to fuck the system and to fight for what’s right, and Beau is doing exactly that. _

_ She’s left the CIA, left the government behind, and has gone solo. _

_ Or, well, as solo as she can be with a team of ragtag genius masterminds on her six. _

_ They’re not there with her now, anyway. _

_ After their last mission, they’ve had to split. Too much attention on them. _

_ Fjord and Jester in Australia, Veth and Caleb in South America, Caduceus and Molly in Russia and herself, alone -always alone- in Europe. Italy, to be exact. _

_ She’s been in the country only a handful of times, and she wouldn’t mind going back to visit. As of now, though, she just has to lay low, stay locked in the damn safe house for a few more weeks and then leave. _

_ She can leave the place for groceries, but that’s pretty much it. Too risky otherwise. _

_ Risky. Beau wants to laugh. _

_ So many risky things have happened in the past few months. And the one she can unfortunately remember too well is Yasha. _

_ Last time she’d seen her, it’d been when she’d saved her life. _

_ Beau had slammed into Yasha’s body, tackling her to the ground and narrowly missing the shower of bullets directed at the taller woman. _

_ Then Yasha’d pushed her away, resuming the fight, Beau had ran to find cover, and they hadn’t seen each other since. _

_ Beau sighs, taking a long gulp of vodka straight from the bottle and lifting the arm of her record player to activate the motor. The disc crackles, and Frank Sinatra starts playing in the small apartment. _

_ Beau hums to herself, and the door raps from a couple knocks. _

_ The bottle disappears, replaced by Beau’s handgun. _

_ She moves immediately towards the door, quick and silent, and calls “Who’s there?” in the most innocent voice she can muster. _

_ There’s a cough on the other side, and Beau yanks the door open before she can even finish thinking about her stupidity. _

_ Because she would recognize that cough anywhere, and there Yasha is, leaning against the doorframe, dirt covering her from head to toe and a hand pressed on her side, on her once white tank top now covered in… _

_ “Yasha,  _ Christ _ , what happened to you?!” Beau whispers, fear and worry coloring her voice, as she ducks under Yasha’s free arm and stands, taking Yasha’s weight upon her own. _

_ Yasha leans onto her, making both of them sway, and Beau kicks the door closed. She throws the gun on the coffee table, against all judgements, and helps Yasha down on the couch. _

_ Yasha coughs again, paler than Beau has ever seen her. _

_ “Bullet’s still inside.” Yasha pants, cold sweats covering her skin. _

_ Beau nods, standing to run to the bathroom. She throws everything on the floor in the rush to find her kit, then hurries back to the living room, where Yasha’s eyelids have started to drop. _

_ “Hey.” she calls, jolting Yasha awake. “You have to stay with me. You hear me? You are  _ not  _ going to die now.” _

_ Beau helps her move her hand, revealing the gash left by a way too large bullet. She dons her gloves and looks around, finding the bottle of vodka still sitting next to the record player. _

_ “Yash… This is going to hurt.” Beau murmurs, reaching for the bottle. _

_ Yasha hums and nods, and Beau takes a moment to raise the volume of the song. Frank Sinatra keeps singing, unaware, and Beau empties half of the bottle onto Yasha’s wound. _

_ Yasha’s scream is muffled by the pillow that Beau is quick to throw at her face, and Beau doesn’t wait, getting to work. _

_ It takes longer than Beau would like to admit, but when she finally leans back, sweat covering her face and blood covering her carpet, the wound is cleaned, emptied and closed, and Yasha is breathing normally, eyes closed and lips slightly parted. _

_ Beau drags herself next to the couch, leaning with her head against it, next to where Yasha’s own head is. _

_ “I’m so,  _ so  _ very happy to see you.” Beau whispers. _

_ Yasha’s hand drops from the couch, fingers twitching just slightly as they intertwine with Beau’s. _

***

Beau yawns, jolted back to reality by the sound of Yasha’s grunts on the other side of the room. She can’t listen to those sounds.

Not now, not tonight.

They’ve almost lost Dairon.

Not just that, but they’ve almost lost Marion, Dairon, and Beau would’ve made a pretty awful pancake if Yasha hadn’t snatched her when she’d missed the rope ladder.

Beau drags herself downstairs, past the hidden hatch on the floor, poking her head inside one of the only private rooms to see Dairon, fast asleep onto one of the beds, and Marion, also asleep, hand closed on Dairon’s healthy wrist, sitting on a chair next to the bed.

Beau watches as Jester drapes a blanket over her mother’s sleeping body, then turns to head out with a yawn.

Jester stops at the door to give Beau a quick, tight hug, then disappears down towards the kitchen.

Beau drags her feet towards the further corner of the massive room they’re in, rounding some of the pillars to then crash face first onto the mattress placed in one corner.

It’s sitting on the ground, but it’s clean, with clean sheets that will most certainly have to be washed tomorrow, but Beau can’t bring herself to care.

She doesn’t even know what time it is.

She rids of her dirty clothes, a suit that is pretty much unusable, and slips into a clean shirt that probably belongs to Fjord.

With that and her boxers on, she kicks the sheets aside and props herself up, busying herself with the wedding ring attached to the chain on her neck, ready to wait.

***

The clock on the further wall ticks for another half hour, and almost all the lights get turned off, before Yasha’s heavy steps make their way toward the sleeping area.

Yasha stops when she sees Beau is still awake, and smiles with a guilty smile.

Beau stares her down.

“Beau…”

“Yasha.”

Yasha sighs, holding a finger up. Beau waits.

Yasha discards her dress, also destroyed, next to Beau’s suit, and finds a shirt -definitely her own- to slip into.

Beau stares at the new wound, covered by Caduceus’ fine handiwork, right above Yasha’s collarbone.

Yasha grimaces when she tries to maneuver her arm into the shirt, and Beau gets up, helping her wife in silence.

They sit back onto the mattress, legs under the sheet, and only then Yasha speaks up again.

“You know I’m not going to apologize, right?”

Beau takes a deep breath. Nods.

She does.

Despite the anger, despite the fear, Yasha taking a bullet for her is not a first, and it won’t certainly be a last.

Just like Beau taking bullets for Yasha is not unheard of, this is something they have always done and they will always do.

“I know. It’s okay.”

Yasha sighs, hand skimming on top of the sheets to caress Beau’s thigh.

“It’s not.”

Their eyes meet and they smile, at once. And at once they move closer, Beau’s arm enveloping Yasha’s shoulders as Yasha leans against Beau’s chest.

Beau presses a kiss on Yasha’s hair, at the top of her head.

“You stink.” Yasha mutters, drawing a cackle out of Beau.

“You, too.”

Yasha giggles, quietly.

The last light is turned off.

“I love you.” Beau tells her wife, and it’s important. They have to tell each other, and they have to do it whenever they can.

Because one day, they’re not going to be able to.

One day, there’s not going to be Caduceus, or Jester. No helicopter, or extraction plan, or last minute Dairon’s intervention.

One day, no matter what they do, it’s just not going to be enough, if they continue on that path.

And they both know they will be on that path for a very long time.

So they have to tell each other now, and every time they can.

“I love you, too, Beauregard Lionett-Nydoorin.” Yasha whispers back, and Beau smiles.

No matter what, a day at a time is a pretty sweet fucking deal, with Yasha next to her.

***

Dairon stirs, tilting their head slowly to one side and groaning at the stiffness of their muscles.

They blink their eyes open, feeling someone stirring next to them.

It’s dark in the room, the only light present coming from a lamp in the corner.

“Darling?”

Dairon sighs, abandoning themselves against the mattress in pure relief. One arm is tied around their neck, wrapped in a cast.

“Marion.” they say. “Are you okay?”

Marion scoffs, sounding for the first time almost annoyed.

Dairon turns to look at her, but they only find worry on Marion’s perfect face.

“Why are you the one who keeps asking me that?” Marion replies. Her hand, first on Dairon’s good wrist and now fully entwined with their own, brings Dairon’s knuckles up to her lips, and Marion kisses each bruise.

“How are you feeling?” she whispers. “Jester said you have at least three cracked ribs, one broken, plus a fractured wrist and a possible concussion. Your ankle is sprained, although that is probably the least of the worries.”

Dairon can only agree. They can barely feel the pain in the ankle under the throbbing of literally everything else.

Despite that, they try to pull themselves in an upright position. Marion immediately stands, pulling the pillow out from under them and fixing it against the wall. Dairon doesn’t even have the strength to complain or try to be hard headed about.

They feel incredibly weak still, and all their energies are currently focused on trying to figure out whether or not Marion has some hidden injury she is not showing.

Marion sits back on the chair, and Dairon brows furrow.

“Have you been sitting here?” they ask, and Marion shrugs with a lighthearted laugh.

“Where else?” she says.

Dairon scoffs. The idea that this woman, who is used to fancy hotels and pillows made of materials that cost as much as one of Dairon’s paychecks, is now sitting on a crooked wooden chair in a basement of a safe-house, is something that Dairon cannot stand.

Especially not because of them. This is not supposed to be happening. It is not how the night was supposed to go.

Dairon turns their head, staring ahead and clenching their jaw.

“Ms. Lavorre, you should go find a bed, and not worry. It is not the first time I find myself in this kind of predicament.”

Dairon waits, fully expecting to hear the scraping noise of the chair against the pavement, and heeled steps leaving the room, but none of that happens.

“Is it Mr. Lavorre, now?” Marion asks, quietly, and the hurt in her voice almost makes Dairon want to fling themselves out of bed and onto their knees, asking forgiveness.

They don’t say anything, only stare ahead.

“My darling.” Marion says, hurt still in her tone, but oh, so much softness in it. “You have  _ no  _ idea what my life has been like. You do not know what I have seen. You must not worry about me.”

Dairon can’t help but rebel at that suggestion, and finally turns to look at the woman.

“ _ Not  _ worry?! How can I not worry after everything that  _ just  _ happened?!“

Dairon shakes their head, giving a once over to Marion’s ripped dress, to a cut under her jaw that they haven’t noticed before. Their heart jumps in their throat at the sight.

Marion must read something on their face, because her palms immediately land on their cheeks, and Dairon finds themselves staring into ruby red eyes.

“Dairon,” Marion murmurs, and every time this woman says their name, Dairon wants to crumble. “My own daughter is on the list of most wanted in both Europe and South America. Her friends, those  _ kids _ … Every time I say goodbye to them, it’s with the knowledge it might be the last time I see them. I have been in the middle of political conflicts and special operations since I was a teenager.”

Dairon closes their eyes for a long moment.

Everything Marion’s said digs deep in their bones.

Those  _ are  _ kids. They’re  _ their  _ kids. They don’t know what they would do if anything was to happen to any of them. To  _ Beauregard _ …

Dairon takes a deep breath. That is something none of the people they’ve worked with have never understood, something that Marion clearly  _ gets _ .

And Dairon knows why they like her so much. I mean, Marion is stunning. But she is talented and gorgeous and clearly a woman who doesn’t need that much help to get by in life, if the way she’s shot that car or handled the whole run is any indication.

But why Marion is sitting there with them, that is something that goes beyond Dairon’s comprehension. So they ask.

“Why me, Marion?” they say, opening their eyes.

Weirdly enough, Marion laughs.

“Oh, well. That is an easy one, my dear.” she says, dropping her hands from Dairon’s face to fix her hair.

Even with a ripped dress, dirt and blood on her, Marion looks like the most beautiful creature Dairon has ever laid eyes on. So elegant, and so out of place is this dirt hell.

“You did not know who I was.” Marion says, easily. “Right off the bat, in that staircase, you called me out for smoking, without knowing I basically owned that place. And even after finding out, it didn’t make much of a difference.”

Marion taps her finger against her stupidly perfect lips, then shakes her head.

“Or better, it did make a difference, but for all the wrong reasons. Instead of trying to get closer to me, you’ve immediately tried to put distance for both your and my safety. It’s admirable.”

Marion winks at them with a mischievous smile.

“It’s fascinating.” she says. “You are fascinating.  _ Rough edges and soft parts that bleed _ .”

Dairon scoffs, exasperated: how is this woman so fucking  _ perfect _ ?!

“Anita Krizzan.”

Marion smiles, not at all surprised. She nods, confirming the source of her quote. “Anita Krizzan.”

Dairon still doesn’t fully understand. Sure, they can get why they might look interesting to Marion, but from there to a full attraction…

Dairon knows they are conventionally attractive, but for regular people, generally. Not for high-class courtesans and VIPs. That is Beauregard’s job, really.

Dairon is more of a person of action.

“You are a mystery to me.” they end up muttering, finally reaching out to grab Marion’s chin and tilt her head, checking the gash under her jaw. It doesn’t look too deep, but Dairon would still prefer if someone could check it o-

“My darling, why don’t you stop fretting over me and the rest of the world, for one moment?”

Dairon looks up at her. Their first stupid thought they have is that those two are one and the same, in this very moment, but Marion is looking at them with softness and gentleness.

“Why don’t you just kiss me, and then go back to rest?”

Dairon’s spine immediately straightens, and a chill runs down it. A shiver of adrenaline, excitement and also opposition.

They really shouldn’t. They shouldn’t, come  _ on _ -

They sneak their good hand behind Marion's neck, through soft hair, and reach out of the bed, crashing their lips against Marion’s in a searing, almost desperate kiss.

Marion clings onto them, one hand on their cheek, the other onto the mattress to lean on.

Marion makes a small, pleased sound and Dairon wants to throw everything out the figurative window and drag that woman into hell with them.

They end up kissing, pressing against each other, until Marion gets up from the chair and sits on the bed, Dairon scooting to the edge of the mattress to make room for her.

Dairon sighs on Marion’s ridiculously perfect lips, and their fingers skim down Marion’s jawline, onto her collarbone and on her chest, before stopping suddenly.

Marion laughs, low, not breaking away but murmuring: “Please touch me, Dairon. Everywhere you wish.”

Dairon wants to scream, and they understand how Beauregard is constantly attached to her wife, because they now feel the same magnetic attraction for Marion and they want to continuously touch her and kiss her.

They follow Marion’s permission, and slip their hand inside the very loose dress, palming soft, warm breasts.

Marion gasps softly, and this time around Dairon has to break away, breath heavy and a horrible pain in their chest every time they try to take air in. Fractured and broken ribs, right.

“We need to stop.” they say, closing their eyes and pressing their forehead against Marion’s. “For now.”

Marion smiles, nods.

“For now.” she promises, and Dairon’s heart squeezes.

They smile, too, and it’s genuine and happy.

It makes Marion sigh, in wonder and joy.

“You have the most beautiful smile.”

Dairon rolls their eyes, thankful for the poor light in the room that covers what is probably a blush.

“Go find a bed, Ms. Lavorre.” they grunt.

Marion clicks her tongue.

“It appears to me that I have already found one.” she says with a cheeky smile.

Dairon can immediately see who Jester has taken after.

“You are impossible.”

“So are you, Agent.” Marion claps back. “Now, sleep. I am not leaving you, no matter how much your stubborn ass tries to convince me to do the contrary.”

Dairon looks at her for a long moment.

Marion smiles, placing a kiss on their forehead, murmuring a soft: “Come on.”

So Dairon nods, and they both shuffle and slowly lower themselves onto the small bed. Marion wraps an arm around Dairon’s shoulders, giving them her body to lean on. Dairon is grateful that the position is actually really comfortable considering the amount of injuries their body has suffered.

The ribs throb painfully, and their wrist sends shockwaves of pain only once in a while, but they know that what they need is rest.

“G’night.” they grunt.

Marion’s chest vibrates with laughter.

“Goodnight, my darling.”

Dairon hides a smile, and closes their eyes.

***

Morning comes way too quick for Dairon’s liking.

As they stir, immediately noticing the absence of Marion in the bed with them, they can hear the chatting and the hurried activities going on around the base.

Because Dairon hasn’t seen much of that place, but from the intensity and volume of the voices, carrying through what they can glimpse from the position, from the equipment they’ve seen in the van and inside the shack upon entrance, Dairon can tell this is not just a regular safe house.

They don’t know where they are; they assume they’re all still in France, but they could be pretty much anywhere, as they are pretty unaware of how much time they have spent being unconscious.

They quietly slip out of bed, noticing someone has changed their clothes. They’re wearing sweatpants, and a tank top that reads “Suns out, guns out” and they know these are Beauregard’s clothes.

Dairon tries to remember whether or not they’ve been wearing these since last night, but they can recall very little, and all they remember is about the conversation with Marion.

They get to the door of the room, looking left and right. The ankle hurts just slightly, and they feel pain in more places than they can remember being hit, and Dairon starts to think that someone must’ve probably sedated them the night before.

Their body is a wreck, which is something to be imagined considering the combination of car crash and jump they made into the water should’ve probably killed them.

Dairon sneaks through shadows, roaming the corridors -they find a boiler room on one side and showers on the other- until they emerge into a massive, underground area where chaos seems to be reigning.

In the far left and far right corners, Dairon can make out a queen size mattress each, with a shelf separating them from the middle area of that far wall. There are two smaller mattresses closer to the right one, and a set of white curtains closer to the left one. Dairon can see someone moving behind it.

Against the left wall, taking over the great majority of it, there is a set up with security cams, computer screens showing some kind of decoding, and several different laptops laying around. Jester and the small woman called Veth are busy with the equipment, throwing marshmallows at each other as they work.

In the middle of the room, next to an empty area with training mats, there’s a set of tables completely covered with weapons, which is where Beau and Yasha are standing, next to a red haired guy Dairon remembers being named Caleb.

On the far right wall, Dairon sees lights coming from an adjacent room, and a last single mattress, surrounded by small potted plants.

Dairon observes the chaos in this place and breathes in, coughing immediately after and groaning at the pain in their ribs. That catches everyone’s attention.

The first one to reach them is Beauregard, naturally, who grabs their good arm and helps them towards the closest seat, which is a couch against the southern wall.

Dairon collapses onto it, jerking their arm away from Beauregard.

“I am perfectly fine, Agent Lionett.” they growl.

“Whatever, Dairon.” Beauregard responds, completely unaffected. “Just wait here.”

Jester approaches with a pack of marshmallows, offering it to her.

“Nice to see you, Dairon! Mama said the car chase was the  _ coolest _ ! Also, you have three fractured ribs, a broken one, a broken wrist, a sprained ankle, a bullet wound in your shoulder, a possible concussion -gotta check you up for that- and we removed a piece of car bumper from your side, so you’ll probably feel some pain there, as well. Oh! We also had to stitch your thigh up, one of the windows shattered and got in your left leg.”

Dairon stares at the young woman with a dumbfounded expression, and blinks.

“You done?”

Jester giggles, drops the marshmallow bag on Dairon’s lap and walks away.

Dairon turns to look at Yasha, who’s staring at her from the weapon table.

Dairon narrows their eyes at her.

Yasha slowly lifts a massive rocket launcher into view, and Dairon closes their eyes, exasperated.

“Feeling better?”

Dairon turns their head immediately at the sound of that voice, opening their eyes onto Marion.

She’s changed.

She’s wearing-

For the love of every  _ God  _ in existence, Marion is wearing skinny ripped jeans and a loose blouse with a French tuck, a pair of combat boots and little to no make up.

Dairon gapes, feeling their jaw hitting the floor, and it must be very clear on their face how shocked they are, because they hear Beauregard’s laugh from the other side of the room.

Dairon closes their mouth, clearing their voice.

“Fine. Peachy.” they growl, trying their best to pick up their dignity from under the couch.

Marion laughs, sitting on the couch next to them and placing the box of what look like bandages between them.

“Well, good morning.” she says, and then she kisses them.

Marion Lavorre reaches out and kisses Dairon straight on the mouth in front of an unfiltered, absolutely unhinged group of asshats, and the Mighty Nein go absolutely feral.

They start hollering at them, and Dairon can only blink and lean briefly into the kiss, raising their good hand to flip them all off.

“You really had to, mhm?” Dairon mutters when Marion breaks away.

Marion shrugs, unflinching.

“Shut it, darling. Caduceus is busy with Fjord in the med tent, and we need to change your bandages. Your thigh wound is worse than it looked last night, apparently. It bled onto the mattress overnight.”

Darion looks down at their leg. They do feel the pain, just like they feel it on the rest of their body, but there’s not much else they can tell, and they suspect they might have been sedated not too long ago.

“Alright, give me.” they say, gesturing for the box.

Marion rolls their eyes.

“Lean down, you stubborn soul, and let me do it. Take your pants off.”

Which of course instigates Beauregard once more, but Dairon ignores her.

They stand, shuffling the sweatpants down their thighs, finally noticing the bandage around her right leg completely covered in blood.

Marion gets to work immediately, frowning in a focused expression as she undoes the old bandage.

They both stare at the horrible gash that is most definitely going to scar, and Marion lifts one eyebrow. Dairon can see her skin getting paler, and they shuffle uncomfortably on the couch.

“You don’t have to do it if you-”

“I nearly lost you.” Marion says.

It’s a whisper, no more than that, but it stops Dairon right off the bat.

“You didn’t.” Dairon says, almost uncertain. Besides Beauregard, they’re not used to having someone caring for their wellbeing that much.

Marion nods, smiling sadly. She takes a deep breath.

“I know. Thank goodness you’re much too stubborn to die.”

Dairon snorts.

They honest to God snort, and that brings a warmer smile to Marion’s face.

The woman goes back to her work, gently but expertly lifting Dairon’s leg and changing the bandaging.

“Where did you learn?”

Marion shrugs.

“Here and there, really. A lot of it from Jester and Caduceus, with time. But I always knew how to treat a wound. I started working in the showbusiness very young, and young girls need to survive in a world of men. I’m glad to say I learned how to not get hurt quicker than I learned how to patch myself up.”

Dairon clenches their jaw.

They don’t know what Marion is talking about but they have a pretty clear suspicion nonetheless. And they hate it.

They wish they could go find every single contact Marion has had in the past and make their lives a living hell.

“Stop frowning. It’s a done deal.” Marion says, lightly, without looking up from what she’s doing. “And I have taken care of them myself, for the great majority.”

She briefly looks up, winks at them and then pats a palm against Dairon’s thigh. A perfect job.

“Done.”

Dairon releases a half chuckle.

This woman…

“You are full of surprises.” they say to her.

Marion scoots a bit closer, grabbing Dairon’s good hand in hers.

“I aim to please.” she says, and  _ nothing  _ about that tone is innocent.

Dairon wants to scream.


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashbacks and loss. Not a light hearted chapter for sure.

Chapter Three

Marion leaves after a few minutes to go help Veth and a now free Caduceus with lunch prep, and Dairon leans back on the couch, observing the scene in front of her.

As Jester, Fjord and Caleb run over a few details on the screens in front of them, Dairon watches as Yasha and Beau circle around each other, studying the other’s moves on the training mats, and finally stepping forward and backwards in a dance of studied movements.

Dairon watches them spar, hiding a smile when Beau sweeps Yasha’s legs and sends her ass to the floor; Yasha makes a grabby hand gesture towards her wife, and when Beau goes to help her up, Yasha drags her on the floor with her.

Beau shrieks, a shriek that becomes a howl of laughter when Yasha starts tickling her, and Dairon can’t help but think how fucking wrong they’d all been.

They remember clearly telling Beau how she couldn’t throw her life away for just a woman. They remember the way young Beauregard had scoffed, so very little scars on her face and her soul, and what she’d responded.

“You don’t know her, Dairon.” she’d said with a determination that Dairon knew would have brought her to her ruin. “Yasha is not and will never be  _ just _ a woman. You can’t understand.”

But Dairon could. They could understand way too well, unfortunately.

_ It’s Dairon’s second week at basic training. _

_ The CIA wants to screen them, massacre them with their inspections, figure out who has the tools to survive that life and who doesn’t, and Dairon is more than happy to prove all the negative expectations wrong. _

_ Because it’s the 90s, and not only the CIA likes to divide their squadrons in male agents and female agents, but is also incredibly sexist in what they expect from one rather than the other. _

_ Dairon announces clearly their gender identity right off the bat, but no one really cares. _

_ There’s five girls left with them at the end of the second week, and two of them have already made clear that they don’t like them. Dairon hasn’t spent enough time with the other three to figure them out. _

_ They’ve been too busy trying to avoid the nine male agents who are constantly trying to get them to snap. _

_ It’s the end of the day, and it’s an easy sparring session. Dairon wants to get it done and over with, but of course one of the guys pushes them while they walk past them, and Dairon has had enough. _

_ They don’t care that it’s not their turn: they flip around and grab the agent by the arm, yanking them towards the mat. _

_ “Fucking do that again, I dare you.” they growl. _

_ He starts laughing, just like the rest of the guys. _

_ “Right. I’m not going to raise hands on a chick.” _

_ There’s another laugh, but it comes from behind Dairon, and it’s an angry one. _

_ “How  _ dense  _ do you have to be?! You know Dairon isn’t a chick. They’ve told you so already.” _

_ Dairon whips their head around, and there she is, this gorgeous woman, who couldn’t be taller than 5′2″, fists clenched at her sides and an angry expression on her round features. Her pale skin is reddened by the frustration she is showing. _

_ Dairon is in love in an  _ instant _. _

_ Slowly, they turn to look at the guy who’s pushed them. _

_ He raises an eyebrow, throwing a punch at Dairon’s face, a strike they easily avoid. _

_ “Come on!” one of the other guys yells, “Kick her ass!” _

_ Dairon hears a commotion behind them, followed by a grunt and the sound of a body hitting the floor, and when they turn, successfully avoiding a second strike, they see the guy who’s talked rolling on the ground and holding his nose, and the girl grinning and shaking her hand from the numbness of the hit. _

_ “Well, then.” Dairon says with a smirk. _

_ *** _

_ They end up in the infirmary together, while five of the guys get transported to the other wing to treat more serious injuries. _

_ Dairon and the girl exchange a smile from above the nurses’ shoulders, and leave the place together. _

_ *** _

_ It’s quick and it’s easy, the way they fall for each other. For the whole duration of training, they stick together, sneaking around at night to go see each other in their rooms. _

_ The world sees them as two girls, and no one ever suspects anything. _

_ After training, after screening, and after the first basic assignments, they manipulate their S.O.s and end up in the same division, in the same teams. _

_ Life is easy. _

_ Life is wonderful. _

_ Life is smiling upon Dairon, and they end up moving in together pretty quickly. Agents and special ops by day, lovers by night. _

_ Nothing couldn’t be more perfect. They cover each other’s backs on assignments, and Dairon is good. Dairon is fucking majestic in everything they do. Their partner isn’t as good, but she’s certainly one of the best CIA agents there is. _

_ There are occasions where the assignments don’t line up, and Dairon is away for weeks at a time, and sometimes it’s the opposite. Dairon is okay with it. They like having a relationship, but they also enjoy the solitude of certain missions. _

_ Everything is perfect. _

_ *** _

_ Until it isn’t. _

_ *** _

_ The CIA gets infiltrated. A number of files goes missing, and people start whispering, they start looking at each other wrong. People start dying. _

_ Mysteriously, without leaving a single hint of what or who might be behind it. _

_ It is clear that it’s an inside job. And not just one person, but several. _

_ Dairon is one of the few who is entrusted with investigating. _

_ It’s out of pure professionalism that they don’t mention it to their girlfriend. _

_ For the better or for the worse, Dairon still wonders about it after years. _

_ They try to believe there’s an explanation, when they see a figure moving in one of the security footage they recover from an agent’s house. _

_ The figure is hooded, and masked, but Dairon could recognize that right hook anywhere. _

_ Dairon’s heart starts freezing. _

_ They set up traps, and every conversation with their girlfriends starts to become a masked interrogation. She doesn’t suspect a thing, because Dairon is just that good. _

_ But piece by piece, word by word, Dairon’s heart freezes over, until one day, when their girlfriend’s gun is aimed at them and Dairon’s gun is aimed at her, they don’t feel anything. _

_ “Come with me.” she says to them. _

_ “Have you ever really loved me?” Dairon asks, with fractures all over their frozen, painfully broken heart. _

_ “Oh, baby…” she says, and her tone doesn’t give anything away. _

_ They both pull the trigger at the same time. _

_ *** _

_ Dairon wakes up in the hospital with tubes coming out of their body, and one of their students looks up from where they’re sitting. _

_ “They told me you went down on a mission.” they say, excitedly.  _

_ Dairon wants to groan. Why is this kid even here?! _

_ “They took out a bullet from one of your lungs, you weren’t even supposed to survive. That’s so fucking cool.” _

_ The kid gets up and stands next to the bed. Their face is out of focus, but it’s a clean, smiling face. _

_ “Yeah. Fun.” Dairon croaks. “You know what happened to… To the other guy?” _

_ The rookie shrugs. _

_ “Down in a second. Your shot went right through his head, apparently. Everyone at the base is talking about how you probably dismantled whatever infiltration was going on at the Agency.” _

_ Dairon nods, trying to hide the pain. The pain that isn’t at all physical and all emotional. The pain of a shattered, frozen heart. _

_ Then, a thought hits them. _

_ If they really have taken down the mole, and if the information is now of public knowledge, it means that whatever hospital they’re in, it’s probably in a cloaked location. So why the fuck is this kid- _

_ “How did you find me?” Dairon demands. _

_ The kid smiles, a shit eating grin that Dairon will learn to love and care for deeply. _

_ “I have my ways. Can I stay?” _

_ Dairon sighs. Against all odds, they nod. _

_ “Sure. Just shut that mouth, Beauregard, and let me rest.” _

Dairon blinks out of their reverie, when a loud scream comes once again from the mats. Somehow, Beauregard has managed to get herself into a pickle with Yasha, Jester and Veth, and the three of them are now all trying to pin her down as Jester shoves whipped cream all over her face.

Beauregard laughs, screams again, and kicks.

“DAIROOOOOOOOOON!” she howls. “HELLPPPPP!”

Dairon scoffs.

“Get fucked, Lionett.”

***

Dairon doesn’t get the full story until lunch time rolls around.

Caduceus, Veth and Marion whip out a full three course meal in the span of one hour, and Dairon has finally the chance to see the last room of the base.

They limp towards the kitchen, ignoring Beau’s offers to help, and crash on the nearest chair, taking a good look around.

It’s a poorly lit, big room, with stoves, fridge and countertop across the opposite wall from one of the two doors. Dairon sees Veth disappear behind another, and they make a note of exploring it later. In the middle of the room, a long table is already filled with silverware, food and drinks. It can host up to fifteen people, but the Nein plus Marion crowd the side where Dairon is already sitting.

Marion meets their eyes and Dairon averts their gaze, barely suppressing a smile.

The woman takes a seat next to them, and Dairon gets immediately kicked in the shin. When they look up at her, Marion is looking straight ahead with a smirk on her face.

This  _ woman _ .

***

They devour the food in silence, everyone too absorbed in their own plate, still too exhausted and recovering from last night to dare speaking.

Dairon themselves barely looks up from the delicious meal, too famished to partake in even the smallest of conversations.

Only when every dish is cleared and Caduceus is readying the kettle, Dairon sits back.

“So. Does anyone want to explain?” they ask.

The Nein look around the table, exchanging a series of glances. Jester clears her voice.

“Remember the A of I?”

Dairon nods, but next to them, Marion shakes her head.

“Not going to lie,” Dairon adds then. “I can use a refresher on what you guys did. I only remember it involved Yasha and then, of course, all of you.”

They all nod, the mood suddenly very dark.

Marion reaches for Dairon’s hand from under the table, and Dairon can’t negate that request. Their fingers intertwine.

Above the table, though, Beau is doing the same with Yasha. Their hands join, and Beau looks at her wife and her wife only. Yasha smiles at her and nods. She thanks softly Caduceus as he places a steaming mug in front of her, then takes a deep breath.

As Caduceus gives a cup to everyone, Yasha starts recounting.

_ Yasha sticks her head around the corner, making sure that nobody is present. It’s not like she’s never been down in the basement, but it’s also not one of her favorite places, and it’s most certainly somewhere she should not be without a specific order. She is ready to lie, of course, but she would really rather she didn’t have to. _

_ She is a terrible liar after all. _

_ Obann doesn’t keep her around for her charisma, that is for sure. _

_ Yasha rounds the corner, hand near the leg holster, ready to whip out her weapon at any suspicious movement. _

_ Luckily for her, the hallways seem to be empty. _

_ She can’t hear a single sound coming from either direction, so she keeps walking, and finally uses the key she’s borrowed from one of the others to open the door of the record room. _

_ She sneaks inside, locking the door behind her and turning the light on. _

_ The neon lights come to life with a buzz, illuminating the rows of shelves with a sick green ray. _

_ She roams around them for a few minutes, trying to find a sign that tells her where the files starting with N are. _

_ Finally, she notices a very faint labeling system at the bottom of each row, and then it’s a matter of minutes before she finds a box with NT-NZ scribbled on the front. _

_ She extracts the box, hesitating for just a moment. _

_ She shouldn’t be here. _

_ She should be upstairs, where Obann and the others are resting, or getting ready and trained for the next mission. Not down here. Not sneaking around like a criminal, looking over files that could- _

_ Files that could either confirm that Beauregard Lionett is indeed the enemy or that could instead destroy every single certainty she’s had of her adult life. _

_ Yasha bites her lower lip. _

_ Because one thing is unfortunately very true. _

_ She doesn’t remember her childhood. At all. She remembers coming to terms with a sort of amnesia, a result of having hit her head too hard during training, or during a mission, but that is pretty much it. _

_ Obann has told her she has been with the Angels of Iron since birth, where she has been trained and educated, loved and cared for. And Yasha has never really questioned anything. She simply does what Obann tells her to do, and although sometimes some missions are not exactly her cup of tea, Obann has always been very clear and reassuring in telling her that they’re doing it for the best of causes. _

_ But Yasha isn’t as dense as her companions believe her to be. _

_ And Beau... _

_ Because there is Beau. _

_ Beautiful, strong, smart Beauregard Lionett. _

_ A CIA Agent. _

_ And Yasha isn’t well versed in American politics or whatever, but she’s pretty sure the CIA is supposed to be the good guys. Or something like that. But Obann hates them. Obann has told her to eliminate any CIA threat on sight. _

_ Yasha doesn’t understand. _

_ Because Beau has talked to her. They’ve talked a lot, actually. And Beau has told her that the Angels of Iron are not, in fact, good. Quite the opposite, really. _

_ And Beau… Beau has kissed her. Beau has looked at her in a way that Yasha only remembers being looked at once, although the details are still blurry. _

_ There’s a woman, a young girl, in her past, that Yasha doesn’t remember. She has a name, but she can’t remember a face. Zuala, the name is. She’s asked Obann about her, but he’s just shrugged and told her to move on. _

_ And Yasha had. _

_ But now she can’t. _

_ Not anymore. _

_ Because Beau has pushed her away from danger, Beau has almost gotten a bullet for her, no longer than a week ago, and Yasha can’t stand the idea of not knowing anymore. _

_ So she places the box on the ground, sits cross legged on the cold concrete floor and finds her file. _

**_Nydoorin, Yasha._ **

_ It’s a thick one. _

_ Yasha takes a deep breath, then opens it. _

_ The first page is a birth certificate, in Russian. Born in Novosibirsk, Siberia from [REDACTED] Nydoorin and [REDACTED] Nydoorin. Yasha blinks. She presses a finger on the black rectangular lines, where her parents' names have been erased, possibly forever. _

_ Swallowing a lump of tears and bile, Yasha flips the page. It is a report, once again with several sections erased, with the Angels of Iron’s letterhead. _

_ Yasha skims through the document, of several pages, noticing how entire sections seem to have been cancelled off. _

_ “The child is above average. The vitals are [REDACTED]. The child appears to be healthy enough for the project. [REDACTED] and [REDACTED] Nydoorin have refused to sign the child off to the organization. [REDACTED] might be necessary.” _

_ “Obtainment of the child is an asset.” _

_ “Approval from [REDACTED] has been received.” _

_ “Proceed with obtainment.” _

_ Yasha remembers witnessing a car crash, one day, a few years back. She remembers how horrible it had been, to see the bodies burn and the people scream without being able to do anything to help them. Without being able to look away either. _

_ It’s exactly how she feels now. _

_ She wants to close everything and run, but she can’t stop reading. _

_ She flips another page, and a set of pictures clipped to a paper appear in front of her. _

_ One is a picture of two adults, a man and a woman, smiling in a hospital room with a newborn baby in their arms. The woman has gentle features, gentle eyes, big hands, large shoulders and long, wavy hair. The man is very tall, with an athletic build, and a nose that Yasha sees in the mirror every day. _

_ The baby is asleep, a small fist curled and closed on her mother’s thumb. _

_ They look peaceful. Happy. _

_ A tear falls on the picture, and Yasha wipes it away slowly, hesitating with her finger on the shape of her father’s face. _

_ She forces herself to move on and look at the other pictures. _

_ A child, with long, dark black hair collected into a braid, stands next to two more girls, one of them with red hair, the other with dark brown ones. Three year old Yasha’s eyes are focused. Her little body is not all that little, compared to the two other children, standing tall above them. _

_ They all seem to be wearing the same uniform. _

_ Other pictures show Yasha’s growth, in that same uniform, and picture her fighting other girls, training in both hand to hand and weapon combat. _

_ The reports the pictures are attached to talk about her. _

_ “Agent Y is skilled.” _

_ “Agent Y mastered the course.” _

_ “Agent Y is fit and ready for combat.” _

_ Yasha keeps going through pictures and files, and every report she reads confirms her suspicions, confirms what Beau has told her about the Angels of Iron. _

_ She starts to see a recurring pattern. _

_ A woman, next to her or behind her or in front of her. A woman with gentle eyes, dark hair and a shit eating grin. Yasha knows immediately who this girl is. As she goes back to the first picture, she recognizes her as one of the two other toddlers in uniform. _

_ “Zuala…” Yasha whispers. _

_ Yasha reads everything once more, looking for signs. And she finds them. _

_ “Agent Y and Agent Z work well together.” _

_ “Agent Z has punched another Agent who was making fun of Agent Y. Investigation required.” _

_ “Agent Y and Agent Z have been found within Agent Y’s quarters, in a compromising situation.” _

_ “Agent Y is a precious asset. Agent Z has been removed from the project.” _

_ Attached to that one file, a single picture. _

_ A black bag, with a dark skinned arm poking out of it. In the background, Yasha sees herself, spine ramrod straight, no emotions on her face. _

_ Yasha stares at the picture, and presses a palm against her mouth, to prevent… _

_ To prevent her to scream, or to puke, or both. She’s not exactly sure. _

_ She stares and stares, and details form back into her memory. Details of Zuala. Of nights together. Of days together. They’re blurred and they’re vague, but they’re memories. _

_ She exhales, trying to swallow a surge of vomit into her throat, and flips the page. It’s a medical report. _

_ She skims through it almost in a haze. _

_ An injection. A cocktail of drugs. An experiment. _

_ Memories being wiped. _

_ A new life. A new Agent. A new Yasha. _

_ More obedient, now that she doesn’t remember. More loyal, now that she has been cleared of distractions. _

_ The last page is a picture in colors. _

_ It’s recent, way too recent. Yasha remembers this one. _

_ It’s herself, her recent self. And next to her, staring with adoring eyes… _

_ “Beauregard…” _

_ Underneath, a few words. _

_ “Possible distraction. Liability. Kill on sight.” _

_ Yasha slams the folder close. _

_ Tears have dried on her face, but it doesn’t matter. She might not know everything, but she knows enough. _

_ It’s time to go. _

Silence falls into the kitchen.

The Mighty Nein are all looking down into their mugs, pensive expressions on their faces. They all know the story.

Beauregard’s hand is still on Yasha’s, and her free one is clenched onto a fist. She hasn’t looked away from Yasha’s face for a single moment during the whole story.

Dairon can see the same rage, the same horror they feel, reflected on their kid’s face.

Marion’s hand has been squeezing theirs painfully for the whole duration, and when Dairon turns to look at the woman, they see tears streaming down her perfect face.

“Yasha.” she says, broken voice and broken soul. “My  _ child _ .”

Yasha closes her eyes for a moment at the word, a single tear escaping her.

She grabs Beau’s hand with both of hers, and takes a deep breath.

A soft voice speaks up from the corner of the table, making both Dairon and Marion turn.

“We found more intel, a few weeks ago.” Jester says, all her usual cheerfulness now gone. “We’ve been trying to dismantle the project for years, now. It’s not easy. They have connections everywhere. Mafia and Ndrangheta in Italy. The Cartel in Mexico. Triad, China. You name it. They’re everywhere.”

Veth takes over.

“So we started setting up traps. All over. We’ve been trying to collect intel about customers, buyers, sellers, anything. We started suspecting someone who was once seen with one of Marion’s old… Clients.”

Marion is quicker than Dairon to understand.

“The Gentleman.” she says, in a whisper. Her hold on Dairon’s hand loosens just slightly.

Jester nods.

“I talked to him. He didn’t seem to have anything to do with them, this time around. But we didn’t trust that he would just leave it alone, so we had Beau and Yasha at the Hotel, as security. We were going to tell you, Mama, as soon as possible. But then…”

Everyone turns to look at Dairon.

“Then the CIA got wind of a possible meeting of drug lords in Paris, and the Gentleman’s name was made.” Dairon continues, finally piecing everything together. “I was sent in to gather intel and protect the source. Marion, we assumed.”

Everyone around the table nods.

Beau, finally turning away from Yasha, places her palm on the wooden table.

“As you can see, Dairon… We have work to do. You are welcome to stay or to go, once you’re feeling better. But we’re going to do this with or without you. With or without the CIA.”

The table turns to look at them.

Dairon looks at Marion, and the woman blinks, her beautiful face pale as a ghost.

Dairon turns to look at Beau.

“I’m in.”

***

Lunch leaves all of them with bile flowing to their throats, and not even Caduceus’ calming tea can help this time around. What the tea does help with, though, is making everyone doze off for the afternoon.

The energy level is still very low, and Dairon, Beau, Yasha and Fjord still are recovering from last night’s stunt, some of them more than others.

Marion finds herself walking around the place, studying the base with new interest, casting glances at the couch where Dairon has collapsed.

The special agent has fallen asleep within instants, and Marion has to resist the urge to find a chair and go sit next to them.

Considering the list of injuries they’ve gotten, she is surprised they are even walking around. They are most definitely sturdier than Marion could’ve ever given them the credit for.

Sighing, she resumes her explorations, finally finding herself in the control area, where her sweet daughter is tapping away on a laptop, lollipop in her mouth.

Jester smiles excitedly when she sees her.

“Mama!” she exclaims, giggling right after and throwing herself at her.

Marion welcomes her daughter with a long squeeze, inhaling her familiar scent and pressing a kiss on the top of her head.

“My little Sapphire.” she whispers.

It’s incredible to be around her daughter like this. It’s been way too long since they’ve had the chance to do so, without the worry of having to look past their shoulders in fear of being seen.

Even so, it’s been months since last time they’ve actually seen each other. Marion is not used to this.

“Come. Sit with me.” Jester prompts with a smile, dragging a chair next to hers.

Marion nods, angling the chair so she can have a clearer view of the base, and a direct line of sight to-

“You like them a lot, don’t you?”

Marion turns to look at her daughter, who is studying her with a small, understanding smile. Jester has her head propped on her hand, elbow on the desk next to her.

Marion considers lying, first off to herself, but she doesn’t really see the point. They’ve all seen how worried she’d been when Dairon had been missing, when they’d been unconscious…

Marion remembers clearly as day watching as the car had crashed and rolled with Dairon still inside, before tumbling down the bridge and into the Seine.

She remembers the anguish, the horror, and the scream she’d let out at the sight of Dairon’s body disappearing under the surface, the pain she’d felt all over her body. An almost physical pain, something absurdly violent for feelings that she hadn’t expected to develop in such a short period of time.

She met Dairon yesterday.

This is ridiculous.

This is…

“My Jester, I don’t think  _ like  _ expresses my feelings for darling Dairon well enough.”

Jester sighs, happily.

“That is wonderful, Mama…”

Marion averts her gaze from the sleeping figure, turning to fix it on her daughter.

“Is it?” she asks, for the first time allowing herself to feel all the uncertainties of the case. “Because I am very much not prepared for this situation.”

Jester frowns.

“It’s not like you’ve never been in love before, though.”

Marion shakes her head.

“It’s not that, Jester. My love for your father was different. It was young, and it was real, don’t get me wrong.” she laughs, breathlessly. “But that was almost thirty years ago, first of all. And it had been a love developed over weeks, months.”

Marion glances distractedly at Dairon, as she perceives them moving out of the corner of her eye.

“This is different. These feelings are intense. As real as they can be. Not love, maybe, but I feel like I am one word away, one gaze away from falling in love with this person who I only met a day ago.”

Jester seems pensive for a long moment, before shrugging.

“Does it matter all that much, when you two have met?” she asks.

Marion remembers asking the same thing to Dairon, a day ago, and believing it herself in the moment.

She shakes her head.

Jester reaches out for her, wrapping her fingers around Marion’s wrist.

“Mama… Look at them.” Jester says, gesturing with her head towards the far corner of the base, towards Beauregard and Yasha.

The two women are lying on the mattress, Yasha fast asleep, sprawled with half her body on Beauregard and half on the bed itself, bare feet dangling and nearly touching the floor. Beauregard is sitting with her back against the wall, one hand holding a book, the other threading distractedly through Yasha’s hair.

Both of their bodies are leaning towards one another, reaching for their companion almost unconsciously.

“We all remember when Beau met Yasha.” Jester whispers. “It was sudden, and it was quick. Beau’s whole life got shaken off its axis. She was still the same Beau, don’t get me wrong, but she fell for Yasha the exact  _ moment  _ she saw her.”

Jester smiles at her friends, and Marion can see the deep love her daughter has for her friends.

“The same went for Yasha, for what we can tell. And it’s beautiful, Mama. It’s so beautiful, that they knew, they  _ immediately  _ knew.” Jester whispers, and those words send a shiver down Marion’s spine. “And everything that happened after just proved they had been right all along.”

Marion’s gaze slowly, but inevitably moves towards Dairon. They’ve shifted again, a frown on their features, and Marion feels those words in her core.

“When did you get so wise, my beloved Jester?” Marion sighs, turning again to look at her daughter.

Jester giggles, plopping the lollipop back in her mouth.

“I ‘on’t ‘ow.” she shrugs. She sucks on the lollipop, happily, removing it then with an audible  _ pop _ . “Maybe ‘cause there’s so much love in my life, now.”

Marion laughs, feeling many of her worries evaporating. She reaches once more to wrap her arms around Jester, who snuggles in with a contented sigh.

“I am very happy to hear that.”

Jester nods in her hold, pressing a sticky kiss on her collarbone. Marion laughs, threading her fingers through Jester’s hair.

“How are you, my darling girl?” Marion wonders.

Jester shrugs again.

“I’m good, Mama.” she replies, straightening herself up and throwing a glance at the screens. She taps away for a few seconds, before continuing. “Worried, of course. This whole ordeal with the A of I is not fun. I never would’ve wanted for you to be involved. We tried our best to keep you out of it.”

Jester sighs.

“I am very grateful to Dairon. They really showed up at the best time. Pulled you out, and protected you better than anyone could’ve ever done.”

Marion nods. They are briefly distracted by a movement beside her, as Beauregard approaches them, stretching out her arms. Behind her, on the far side of the room, Marion notices Yasha stirring, blinking awake, then looking around with a confused expression.

Oh, these children…

Marion only wants to gather all of them up and hide them from the world.

She knows she can’t do it, of course, but she desperately wishes she could.

Beau leans against the desk, shoving one hand in her pocket.

“Anything?” she asks, barely suppressing a yawn. Marion notices the deep bags under her eyes, and she wonders if this girl ever sleeps.

Jester shakes her head.

“Not really. Police are still trying to recover the car from the Seine. No one seems to have noticed Fjord, so there’s active research going for Dairon’s body as well. The CIA has pulled every rope to make sure there’s no connection to them, so Dairon’s room has already been cleared. We don’t have to worry about that.”

Jester pulls up a few articles and news announcers on the screen.

“Nobody has tracked the helicopter, the public is still thinking it was some sort of movie, mainly because Mama was involved.”

Marion watches as her face appears on several screens, from videos taken by cell phones and security footage.

“Right.” she murmurs, in disbelief, as they all watch the scene unfold once more, of Beauregard ditching the bike and flying towards the rope, getting caught mid air by Yasha; of Marion jumping out of the car and onto the rope.

Of the Bugatti, getting hit and rolling over other cars, crashing and bouncing off the bridge, Dairon’s figure going with it…

Marion turns her head away, just as a hand lands on her shoulder. She doesn’t even have to question it. She closes her eyes and burrows her face on Dairon’s flat stomach, taking a deep breath in.

“We’re pretty much good, for now.” Jester is saying. “We are going to be safe in here, but we need to lay low for a few days. A week or two, if we plan to have Dairon up and running before we leave. We need to touch base with Keg, in Germany, and Nila in Italy. They have a couple of safe houses we can use. Dad said he can provide a hide out here in France that we can use. We need a cover for Mama, to justify what happened at the Chateau, bring her back there. We need to craft some documents, movie contracts if we want to follow this pre-existing lead and-”

“And a death certificate.”

Everyone turns to look at Dairon.

Marion lifts her head, noticing that Yasha has joined, together with Fjord, Caduceus, Veth and Caleb.

“What are you talking about?” Fjord asks.

“For them.” Beau intervenes, eyes narrowed in Dairon’s direction. “Dairon, are you sure? There is no coming back from that.”

Dairon shrugs, and Marion reaches out for their hand. They squeeze it, but they don’t look at her. They look at Beau, and there’s only determination in their eyes.

“I know. And I am sure.” they say. Another squeeze. “I can’t go back to the CIA. Not now. They won’t help. But I can help here, and I need-”

Dairon takes a deep breath. They can all see their walls lifting, an emotional armor going up.

“It is dangerous, and I’m not letting you all go in alone.” they end up saying.

Beauregard and Dairon look at each other for a very long moment, and Marion exchanges a glance with her own daughter.

Jester shrugs and hides a smirk. Marion rolls her eyes.

“Very well, then.” Beau finally says. “I guess we’re up for a nice little vacation in Europe, then.”

***

The next week is a whirlwind of preparations, training and rehab, at least for Dairon.

Caleb, Veth and Fjord work tirelessly day and night to craft a credible cover story for everyone. They put together documents, false contracts and certificates, emails and letters.

When the Paris Police finally manages to recuperate the car, they already have the possession moved to untraceable accounts and false identities.

Beauregard and Caduceus work with Dairon to rehabilitate them, ensuring their body heals properly.

Yasha comes back by the end of the first day with a new mattress, which she places in the room Dairon had woken up in after the crash. Marion automatically takes possession of it, and it takes a full hour of convincing before Dairon accepts to share the room and the bed for the remainder of their time there.

Jester spends her time tampering with security cameras, making footage disappear on as needed basis, and the group collects around her desk when they finally send a death certificate through the CIA files for Dairon.

It sparks no little interest, and they get the hint that not everyone seems to believe the story, but the smoke settles after a few days, and they take a collective breath of relief.

They all take turns going outside, twice a day, to take watch and laps around the shack, making sure that the base remains hidden and curious eyes remain at distance.

Everything is calm and quiet for ten full days, before Fjord comes running down the stairs and straight into the kitchen.

“Jester, lock the hatch,  _ now _ .”

Everyone jumps up from where they’re sitting, around the kitchen table. Jester darts into the main room, tapping furiously at the keyboard.

The ceiling vibrates for a few seconds, as the compound goes in full lockdown. Everyone moves at once, grabbing a weapon and starting to reload. Dairon finds an already loaded S&W 686 for their use, happy to be able to shoot and reload with one hand since their wrist is still out of service.

Next to them, Marion picks up a Remington 700 and loads it, quickly and efficiently, making Dairon blink a couple times in her direction.

Marion shakes her head with a smirk, slipping a Beretta in the back of her jeans.

Yasha sighs sadly to herself, looking at a rocket launcher with a deep look of desire, before finding a tricked out Winchester rifle for herself.

Beauregard comes out running from the bathrooms, hair still wet from her shower.

“What’s going on? Fjord.”

Fjord shakes his head, as he works on reloading his own weapon.

“Something triggered the outer perimeter’s alarms. I saw a single car, then I had to lock the door and come down.”

Dairon turns to the cameras.

“Jester.” they call out.

“CCTV is up and running. Veth has them targeted. We definitely have someone at the door. Say hiiiiiii, friend!”

Almost like they’ve heard her speaking, the figure approaching the front door looks around, then up towards the hidden camera.

Both Beauregard and Dairon raise their hands, speaking at once.

“Hold the fire!”

“Don’t shoot!”

They look at each other, then at the waiting group.

“Who is it, Beau?” Caleb asks, slowly.

Beau sighs, collecting her hair at the top of her head with a sigh.

“Yudala Fon.” she says. And when nobody makes a move, Dairon adds, darkly: “The Director of the CIA. They’re here for me.”

***

After a few minutes of debating, they decide to let them in. Despite the mistrust, both Dairon and Beau vouch for them, knowing that it is better to have such a powerful person as an ally rather than an enemy.

Dairon has the feeling they’ve maddened them more than enough already anyway.

Yudala Fon takes a long look around the base, studying every single one of them and their weapons, hastily pointed at them.

The only people missing are Yasha and Marion, the two women that Yudala Fon might not approve of trusting.

One because of her history, the other because of her civilian status.

As Yudala Fon finishes their scrutiny, they gesture for Dairon.

Beauregard steps forward when Dairon does, ignoring her mentor’s warning gaze. Yudala Fon narrows their eyes at her, but doesn't comment further.

They follow them as Yudala Fon starts walking around, and Beau sneakily presses her finger against her earpiece.

“Let us show you the base, Director.” she says.

Somewhere else around the compound, Dairon knows that Yasha is listening closely.

Yudala Fon nods, and Beauregard takes the lead, hand grazing her handgun at every step.

Dairon and Yudala Fon walk side by side behind her.

For a few moments, there is silence, and then…

“What the  _ fuck  _ do you think you’re doing?”

Dairon sees Beau flinches in front of them, but they don’t give that same satisfaction to their superior.

“I’m not sure I understand, Director.”

Yudala Fon scoffs.

“Please. You have been with the agency for years, Dairon. I have trusted you in the past, and even when you tried to vouch for this hotheaded mess right here-”

It’s Beauregard’s turn to scoff.

“I decided to trust you and let the matter go. But faking your own death? For what, exactly?”

Dairon notices Beauregard glancing briefly behind her shoulder, before looking ahead once more.

“You wouldn’t understand, Director.” Dairon responds, slowly. “There are players in this game that the CIA does not wish to interact with, and I had to stand by and watch as they took some of our best agents, one way or the other. But there are things happening that I cannot turn a blind eye from. Not anymore.”

“Dairon, gross.” Beauregard walks inside the room Dairon shares with Marion, as she speaks. “You could at least pick up your dirty clothes.”

They both turn to look as the young woman kicks a rolled up pair of socks away from her.

She has pure disgust on her face, and Dairon is about to punch her, when she remembers what her protege is actually doing.

They flip her off for good measure, and Beauregard grins. Yudala Fon sighs heavily.

***

Yasha presses a finger against her mouth as they leave the boiler room.

“They’re in your quarters.” she whispers to Marion.

She nods.

She hates this. The idea that this whole mess is happening because of her. Because Dairon had to pull her out from that mess, blow their cover in less than a day, and jeopardize that career.

Rationally, she knows it’s really not her fault. Rationally, she knows that Dairon has made those choices and they would’ve made it either way. But she also suspects Dairon is not acting as carefully as they would have, had Marion not been in that equation.

She follows Yasha as they make their way down the corridor: the goal is to leave the underground area and hide upstairs, where they can access a car at any moment notice.

But then they both hear something that makes them stop dead on their tracks.

“Now that you have deserted the Agency and Agent Lionett is here clearly manning an unsanctioned operation, tell me what is preventing me from shooting the both of you in the head and get this clownery over with.”

Yasha freezes, her whole body tensing, and Marion almost gasps out loud.

The two women look at each other, hands gripping their weapons with more force, and then they nod. They move.

Towards the voices, and not away from them.

They both press their backs against the wall, ready to bolt in either direction at any given moment, and listen.

“We let you in, instead of shooting you on sight, Director.” Beauregard is saying, all the courtesy gone from her tone. “And you threaten me and my family in my home. I will not stand it.”

“Your  _ family _ ? Your  _ home _ ?” Yudala Fon echoes, incredulously. “You are young, naive, and reckless, Agent Lionett. You have disobeyed direct orders more than you have obeyed them. Don’t try and preach your case with me.”

“You are wrong on so many levels, Director.” Dairon intervenes, flat tone. Marion can still pick up hints of rage in the subtle way their voice breaks. “Yes, Beauregard might be young and reckless, but she is not naive. And she is one of the best agents the CIA ever had, better than what the CIA ever deserved. You do not get to speak to her like that in my presence.”

There is a long moment of silence, during which Marion could swear the whole compound could her heart beat.

“You have changed, Dairon.” Yudala Fon says, this time sounding softer, almost surprised. “Do not get me wrong. Still stubborn and insubordinate like very few. But a month ago you wouldn’t have responded to me like this. I know you well, Dairon. What is going on?”

Silence falls once more, and Yasha shifts uncomfortably. Marion can tell that all she wants is to run in where her wife is.

Marion shares that feeling very well.

They stay put.

“I have… Met someone.” Dairon says after a long moment, and Marion has to physically force herself to stay rooted on the spot. “Fallling in love with this woman made me realize I had not been fair, responsible nor forthcoming towards my affections.”

Yasha turns to look at her, and Marion feels her jaw going slack.

Did she hear that right?

“You, Dairon, talking about  _ love _ …” Yudala Fon murmurs. “I have not heard you speak about love since-”

“I know.” Dairon interrupts, abruptly. “I am aware. She’s a special woman. But I also love Beauregard, here, like a daughter -Lionett, wipe that grin off your  _ stupid  _ face, or I’ll kick your ass until it replaces your  _ head _ \- I care for Beauregard, and I trust her with my life and with the life of many others. Which is why you will understand when I say that I trust the people I love, and I will go with them to the edges of this goddamn Earth.”

There is a long moment of nothing but silence, through which Marion has to lean further against the wall, her knees suddenly very weak.

Dairon loves her?

She is certain she must have heard that wrong, because-

“You love her?!” Beauregard asks, with a barked, happy laugh.

“Shut that hole, Beauregard.” Dairon grunts.

“Lionett, I had forgotten how abrasive you can be.” Yudala Fon comments. dryly.

“Thank you, Director.” Beau responds, and Marion sees Yasha pressing a palm against her mouth, suppressing an amused sound.

“I am not sure what you are all getting yourselves into.” Yudala Fon says, and they both stiffen once more, listening in. “But I do trust Dairon’s judgement. I am also aware of the successful jobs the Mighty Nein have had in the past few years. You have given me no reason to not trust you, Agent Lionett. Therefore I will close an eye for now. Don’t get mixed up with the CIA, or if you do, try not to blow up a building again.”

Marion can see Yasha frowning and pouting.

“Thank you, Director.” Beauregard says.

“And you, Dairon.”

“Mhm.”

“There is no going back from this, I hope you know this.”

“Yes, Director.”

“I leave, now, and I leave without you, and you will not be a CIA Agent anymore. You will not have a chance to be reinstated. You will not have access to our resources. You will not have protection. You will not, in any way, be what you have worked years to become. Is this what you want?”

There is a long moment of silence.

Marion almost moves, almost runs in, to plead Dairon to reconsider. To save their lives, and to keep themselves safe.

She takes a small step, and Yasha’s hand reaches for her. Yasha shakes her head: there is pain on her face, and the same sadness Marion can feel in her heart, and resignation.

“It is not something I want, but it is something I need to do. The CIA can’t help me achieve what the world needs right now. I have made my decision.”

There is no hesitation in their voice. No pause, no regret.

“Very well. This is a goodbye, then. I am not sure I will be able to protect any of you, if the occasion was to arise. You are aware of this, yes?”

“Yes, Director.” Beauregard and Dairon say at once. Once Agents, always Agents. So similar, like parent and daughter.

“Very well.” Yudala Fon repeats. “Take care.”

Yasha and Marion scramble to leave, just as Beau says: “Wait.”

***

Yudala Fon turns to look at the both of them, still standing in the middle of the room.

They watch as Agent Lionett approaches them, until they are standing a step away from them.

There is so much determination on her young face, and Yudala Fon wonders if it hadn’t been the worst mistake the CIA had ever made, the one to let Beauregard Lionett go.

“Yes, Agent?”

Beauregard studies them for a long moment. Dairon doesn’t move, simply following the interaction with curious eyes.

“I appreciate your compliance, today. I am glad we could find a resolution, a compromise.”

“I as well.” Yudala Fon nods.

“That said,” Beau continues. “I stand to what I said earlier. You threaten me or my people again, and I will break every single bone in your body and use them to build a new harp for my wife. Is that clear?”

Yudala Fon raises an eyebrow.

Behind Beauregard, Dairon stares right ahead, clearly trying to figure out whether they want to laugh or groan in frustration.

“Very clear, Agent.”

And with that, they turn and march from the room, following the hallway to exit the compound.

Behind them, they catch Dairon’s last words.

“You’re such a  _ dickhead _ , Beauregard.”

***

They sit around the table for dinner, with the Mighty Nein still discussing what has happened with Yudala Fon, and enjoy a wonderful vegan stir fry.

Caduceus has taken it upon himself to cook vegan for everyone to accommodate Dairon’s preferences, and they all seem to be enjoying the change.

The group is always incredibly appreciative of Caduceus’ effort, complimenting him on the cooking and thanking him for everything he does, and Dairon can’t help but join in.

Marion keeps weirdly quiet for the majority of the dinner, but when Dairon taps her thigh to lift an eyebrow at her, Marion leans in to kiss them gently on the lips.

“Later.” she tells them, and Dairon squishes down their worries to enjoy the dinner.

On the other side of the table, Yasha leans towards Beau to whisper something in her ear, and Beau’s jaw goes slack. She turns to look at her wife, mouthing something that looks like a “Seriously?!” to Dairon.

Yasha nods with a mischievous grin, and then both of them turn to look at Dairon.

“What.” they snap, making Yasha avert her gaze and Beau cackle almost manically.

Naturally, they refuse to open their mouth after that.

Marion sighs, deeply amused, but doesn’t say a word.

Dairon has the feeling they’re missing something.


End file.
